Heartsick
by AccioJosh
Summary: It's the future and Harry Potter isn't where he thought he'd end up. He's alive, but does he want to be?


Author's Note: un-betaed. Read at your own risk.

* * *

The door to the flat opened to reveal Ginny, a sight Harry had been preparing himself to see for the last few hours. Her face washed in several emotions, she settled on a polite smile and opened the door wider in invitation.

"Hullo," he muttered as he passed, feeling the warmth of her skin as his arm brushed hers. Tingles of familiarity ran up the length of it, sending signals he wasn't ready to deal with right to his brain. Unnerved, he fumbled and nearly tripped over himself before finding a kitchen table to sit at.

"How's Lily?"

"She's fine." Ginny busied herself at the counter, moving objects and preparing their daughter's dinner. "Had an owl from one of the teachers at her school," she started, her voice filled with tension and uncertainty. "Seems she used magic on a muggle. Luckily he was able to cover it up."

"It's good they have the undercover teachers then." He made a half smile when she turned to look at him, his eyes trying to catch hers and say again what he'd repeated to her for years, 'I'm sorry'. She avoided them.

"She's asked about you again." Harry's thoughts turned dark, no longer concerned with trying to apologize when her eyes met him with a fury he had faced for years. "I think you're a prig for not seeing her!" They were harsh words, impacting him harder with the force of the anger within them.

"Ginny, I just..."

"You just _what_? You just want some perfect life? You just want to forget her? You just want to forget me? You just _**what**_?" Each question was louder than the last until Harry was sure the neighbours would hear and call the police again.

"I just _CAN'T_!"

* * *

"I see it went just as well this time," Ron announced as he sat down on the next stool. "You're a git, Harry."

"Thanks, Ron." Harry took another swig of his ale and glared at the blackness, wishing he could drown in it.

"Oi! It's Harry Potter! Barkeep! Another ale for the Hero of the Wizarding World!"

"Thanks, mate," Harry said politely, quick gulps allowing him to start on the newest one.

"Don't think you've had enough yet, eh?"

"It's never enough."

Ron's arms were all rough and hairy. Harry swore he could count every single one as they rubbed harshly against his own feverishly hot skin. Where had his shirt gone? There were vague memories of yellow hair and blue eyes, a sneer and some harsh words. She'd had tits the size of cantaloupes, and he knew he'd enjoyed the taste of them. When had Ron come into the picture? A funny thought about Ron and tits came into his head and he started to laugh.

"Ssh!" Ron jostled him rather hard and Harry nearly shouted out his discontentment on the matter only to have his mouth securely sealed with the calluses of a palm tasting not unlike salted peanuts. Suddenly feeling a desire for peanuts, Harry allowed his tongue the pleasure of licking all of the taste it could get its wriggly wetness to. "And quit licking my hand, Harry. It's a bit uncomfortable." Harry stopped, dejected. It had tasted good.

The couch hit him, and the next thing he knew half of his night's sorrows were coming back up to haunt him into a waiting bowl. "_Scourgify_," muttered Ron, placing it back just in time to catch the rest. It repeated until Harry couldn't remember anything else, but felt a bit clearer-headed.

"Oh fuck," he said before spilling up some more, his stomach now in quite a lot of pain.

"Yeah, 'oh fuck' about covers it. Though I think having sex with Rita Skeeter might make you say a bit more violent things when you've sobered up."

"_**RITA SKEETER**_!"

"Bloody hell, Harry! You'll wake the baby!" The hushed tones gave Harry a pang of guilt before a sleepy-eyed Hermione emerged from the bedroom. One glance, a roll of the eyes and she was gone.

"Did I..." He gagged, feeling a dry heave threaten, then, "...Fuck Rita Skeeter?"

Ron started at him straight-faced.

"Oh _fuck_."

"Nah, mate, you didn't."

He would have hit him, but another wave of his dinner stopped him.

* * *

"Ron, he can't keep staying here. Keiran isn't going to grow up with a drunken man on the couch! Godfather or no, best friend or no, we can't keep allowing him to go on like this. He needs help!"

"Hermione! What am I to do? I can't just chuck him out by the curb. He's been my best mate since we were first-years."

"I know," she replied, and Harry could hear the defeat in her hushed tone. "I'll never understand why he left Ginny," she added, cold and dispassionate. "They were perfect for each other."

"I dunno," Ron said, the confusion obvious. "My mum says Ginny won't talk about it."

"Well, neither will he. It's obviously his fault though."

"That's not fair!"

"Isn't it? He left her!"

"Well, who's to say she didn't cheat?"

"RON! She's your _sister_!"

"George cheated on Apolina, didn't he? Maybe it runs in the family."

"Careful where you go with that," she said, and Harry could picture the look on her face. He could even see the look on Ron's as he carefully closed the door before apparating.

* * *

"Oh look at who it is."

"Shut up, Smith."

"The _saviour_ of the wizarding world," Zacharias said. It didn't sound so nice coming from him.

"I said '_shut up_'!"

"You're pathetic, Potter. Look at the state of you!" Smith moved closer, a sneer that would put Malfoy's to shame worn as it was every Monday. "Are you still pissed, Potter? Or did you at least have the decency to vomit it all back up before reporting in?"

"That's enough, Smith," said a stern, older voice. "Leave Potter alone."

"Merlin's beard! Why does everyone pander to him? Look at him! He's pathetic!"

"Well, maybe you should think about what he did for you before you talk, Smith."

Harry left for his office, leaving the conversation to people better suited to it. He could here Zacharias' retort as a muffled whine of disgust. Harry smirked.

* * *

He'd lost count after twelve, but he knew there would be nearly ten more before he would be sick. And seven of them would be free, bought by yet another stranger. The _Leaky Cauldron_ was perfect for meeting strangers from all over the world, and Harry came here for just that reason. He may not have had to worry about money since he first learned he was a wizard, but why pay for something when some idiot will give it to you for free?

"Another ale for the fuck-wit here."

Harry groaned, not even looking up from his pint before replying. "What are you doing here, Smith?"

"Thought I'd help you along in the suicide attempt. No sense in keeping you about like this. Better to be rid of you before you waste away to a drunken wretch. Oh, sorry, I'm too late." Harry didn't reply. "Where's that git of a mate of yours? Doesn't he usually bail you out around now?"

"No, he has the sense to wait until I'm actually drunk to try and save me."

"I'm not saving you," Smith said coldly, putting three galleons on the bar top. "Keep 'em coming for Mr. Potter." The keep nodded and moved off.

"I don't want your fucking pity, Smith."

"Well that's good, because you're not getting it. I told you, I'm helping you in your attempt to end your life. Better to be--"

"--Done with me, right. Well, I can do it myself." Harry picked up the galleons and pushed them at the blond, their eyes meeting and Harry struck by the ferocity of the glare he faced.

"Of course you can, Potter. You always could, though. When Justin tried to help you, it was your assertion you could do it by yourself then too. Suppose it didn't matter that maybe he needed you? No, of course not. Had to be on your own." Smith's eyes were wet, and Harry found he couldn't face them any more. Wasn't this why he was here? To stop facing those eyes? "Justin _**needed**_ you! Where were you?"

"That's enough, Smith," Ron said, shoving himself between them. "Leave him be."

"Fuck you, Weasley!"

Harry drank down the entire pint without breathing as Zacharias disappeared out into the muggle streets.

* * *

"I'm COMING!"

The knocking on the door was turning to banging, and Harry looked over at the clock on the wall, illuminated by some charm he'd always imagined was a derivation of lumos and saw it was half-four in the dark half of the day. "Fucking hell," he muttered, realizing he'd only just gone to bed half an hour before.

Wrenching the door open, he'd started to say, 'This better be good,' but found he couldn't when it was Smith's face it revealed.

Without a word of welcome, a sound or gesture, Zacharias pushed passed Harry and slammed the door, using his index finger and a rather annoying poking motion to push Harry against the nearest wall. "You killed him! It was your fault! All of it! If you had just _died _we wouldn't have had to face his wrath! We wouldn't have had to all join up to try and fight him to protect you!" Harry tried to fight against the poking, which was hurting, the vomit threatening to cover the offending hand and the emotions that he'd buried so well in drink. It was confusing, and confusing was bad. Or wet. It might have been wet. No, that was his shirt and Smith's hand.

"I LOVED HIM, POTTER! I loved him! And you killed him! I loved you and you didn't even care!" Smith's voice faltered and it took Harry a few moments of wiping at the vomit before he realized what he'd heard.

"What?"

"I loved you," Smith said, his voice lower and his face downcast. "I loved you, not him. He knew it, too." Smith looked up, tears flowing steadily as he spoke. "We joined the fight because of you. Same as the D.A. I wanted to be close to you."

"You... always hated me..." Was he still passed out? Maybe on Ron and Hermione's sofa? What kind of fucked up dream was this?

"No, idiot. I didn't. Never. I thought you were a bit self-righteous at first, of course, but it would be a pure simpleton not to see how brave and selfless you were." He sneered, mostly at himself it seemed. "How the fuck couldn't I love Harry Potter, the Saviour?" Harry just stared, uncertain how to respond. Smith moved closer, his body dangerously close. This was uncomfortable. "I'm going to kill you, Harry."

"Pardon?" He was sober now. Especially with Smith's wand tip poking harshly into his jaw.

"I'm going to do what even Voldemort never could," he said coldly. "I'm going to kill Harry Potter."

"Smith, what are you on about? You're not a murderer!"

"How would you know! You've never paid me the least bit of attention! Until the D.A. you didn't even know I existed! I fancied you for so long and you didn't even notice me! Then I fought you and you still didn't care! Do you know my father disowned me for coming to your side to fight? Do you know what you cost me?" Harry shook his head, his thoughts flickering to the wand he carelessly left in his side table day after day, swearing never to touch it again. That was a mistake. "I was too late in realizing how much I loved Justin," he said, softer. "Even now, knowing how I care, I still love you more. Why is that, Harry? Why the fuck do we love what we cannot have? Is that how people like Voldemort come to be?"

"You're not Voldemort." Smith laughed. He laughed and kept on laughing, each harsh bray forcing the tip of his wand harder against Harry's jaw. It hurt a lot, but he didn't dare move. He was defenceless and he knew at Smith's mercy. It wouldn't do any good to lash out until he had the upper hand.

"That's true, Potter! I'm not! And you know what separates me from Voldemort?"

"Humanity. The ability to feel. To love. To be sad."

"And that I will succeed where he failed," Smith added with a sardonic smile.

"I didn't kill Justin."

"No, but you didn't save him either."

And it all went black.

* * *

"Is he alright?"

"Oh yes, of course. He's just a bit drunk. Hates flying." There was a sound almost like a chuckle and Harry was thrown down on a heavily soft surface. A bed? Yes, that's what they were called. "Thanks, mate," Smith's voice said to the stranger, the sound of a door closing followed.

He still couldn't see, but it seemed that was because he'd forgotten to open his eyes. Once he figured that out, it was now his task to discover _how_ to.

"Ah, you're awake. Wonderful." Smith was standing over him holding a small glass with bubbling liquid that looked about as appealing as wash water. "Drink this. You'll feel better."

"Where are we?"

"Drink." He did, spluttering and coughing, gagging and the finally swallowing.

Well, there's something; he felt better.

"I thought you were going to kill me?"

"I killed Harry Potter."

"Okay, but I'm--"

"Not any longer, you're not. From now on you're--" he paused to look down at a passport, a blue passport. "Daniel Lefferty."

"But... How? Why?"

"Because I've watched you since first year, and I knew it was what you needed. And because I love you."

Harry gaped at him for a few minutes before he closed his mouth and let a smile gently unfold on his lips. "How do you know I'll go along with it?"

"Because I know why you and Ginny divorced. And because, as I've mentioned, I've been watching you since first year. It's also how I know you're a bit daft sometimes. I can live with that."

Harry shook his head and caught a glimpse of the mirror, a strange face looking back at him. It was his, but there was a very obvious difference; no scar.

"Harry Potter is dead," Smith said triumphantly. "Long live Daniel Lefferty."

_finis_


End file.
